Mr Todd's Hand
by x Lost Hero x
Summary: Sweeney cuts his hand with his razor and needs Mrs. Lovett to clean it up. Sweenett. OneShot.


**Author's Note: I'm really not in a good mood right now and I need some Sweenett fluff to cheer me up. This fic might be pointless and maybe angsty at some points but I don't care. Read and review. Enjoy!

* * *

**The silver friend glittered in the moonlight. A candle was sitting on the old vanity burning dimly through the night. And there he was, standing there, looking down on Fleet Street. The candle flickered dimly, illuminating everything on the vanity. The picture of Lucy and Johanna caught the barber's cold black iris. He glanced over at it, tightening his grip on the razor. They all deserved to die. The razor pushed into his cold palm. Sweeney glanced out the onto the dark cold night. Many thoughts raced through his head. He would get revenge…he would. Sweeney Todd held onto the razor tighter, anger racing through his veins. He was always so angry.

His hand soon became warm, which startled the barber. Why was his hand warm? He gripped the razor as tight as he could. Sweeney felt something race down his arm, staining his white shirt. Mr. Todd looked down and saw his palm was bleeding. Bloody razor. He had gripped it so tightly it left a painful gash on his palm. He studied the wound, mesmerized by his own blood. Mr. Todd's hand bled freely, warming his arm.

After a few minutes the pain started to sink in and Sweeney realizfed how much it actually hurt. He gasped slightly and dropped the razor. It fell to the ground making a dull thud. With his left hand Sweeney grabbed his right hand, the bleeding hand, and groaned softly. The bloody razor. Mr. Todd glanced down at it. His own blood covered the silver blade. There was so much blood, so much of his own blood, that Sweeney couldn't see his own reflection.

Still holding his right hand with his left hand he walked over to the infamous chair. As he walked he made sure to be loud so Mrs. Lovett would hear him. Sweeney knew she'd come up if he was loud enough. Mr. Todd sat in the chair and looked at his left hand. It was now covered in blood also, just like his sleeve. He waited in the chair for Mrs. Lovett. She'd come up soon enough. She always did.

* * *

Just like he had thought, the bell above the door rang and he heard her dress rustle as she walked into the room.

"Mr. T., wot's th' matter, love?" she asked, glancing around the small shop. Then Mrs. Lovett looked at Sweeney. She noticed that he was holding his injured hand and she gasped. "Mr. Todd, wot'd ya do?" she asked, rushing to the chair.

Sweeney didn't reply but nodded towards the window. Mrs. Lovett glanced at him confused and then headed towards the window.

Nellie looked out the window and then she glanced at Mr. Todd. "Wot, love? Wot's out there?" she said.

He shook his head violently and muttered, "Not outside. On the floor."

She glanced down and saw the razor. Mrs. Lovett gasped and then said, "Mr. T., wot 'appened?" Nellie bent down and picked the razor up. She clutched the handle and then walked over to the infamous chair. Glancing down at him she said, "Did it cut you?"

"No, bloody woman. It kissed me. O'course it cut me damn hand!" he snapped, glaring at her.

Mrs. Lovett, fed up with his snappy mood, retorted, "Well, wot d'you wan' me ta do 'bout it?" She placed her hand on her hips, the razor sitting on her right hip.

"I want you ta clean it up!"

"Now why would I do tha'?" she asked. Oh, how she was fed up with him. How dare he snap at her. After all she did for him! But she had the advantage now; she had the razor. And now only was his friend dripping rubies. His friend was dripping his own rubies.

Sweeney quickly rose and grabbed Mrs. Lovett's throat with his wounded hand. The blood from his hand raced down her throat all the way to her bosoms. He pushed her against the wall and his black irises raced with anger. His hand slipped to her waist and he took the razor from her.

Mrs. Lovett didn't realize he had taken the razor from her until she felt the cold silver tracing her neckline. Her chest heaved up and down, causing his blood that was on her bosoms to enter her cleavage. "Mr. T.," she moaned, closing her eyes. "Mr. T."

"Wot, pet? Wot do ya want?" he asked, the razor still playfully licking her neck.

"Let me go."

"Now why would I do tha'?" he asked, mocking her. Then Sweeney added, "My blood can run down yer bosoms all day, love."

She held her breath. "Wot do I gotta do ta get you off me?" she murmured.

Sweeney gripped her neck tighter. "Clean up me hand," he rasped. His blood started to dry on her neck and his razor began to chip it off. "So wot do ya say, pet?" he asked, glancing into her brown orbs. "Will you clean my 'and?" Sweeney inquired.

Her chest heaved up and down and she quickly nodded. "Yes, yes," Mrs. Lovett said nervously.

Sweeney smirked and released her. Then she grabbed his right hand and groaned quietly.

Mrs. Lovett grabbed her neck and wiped off most of the blood. She heard him moaning and said, "Hush, love. No need ta moan. Sit in the th' chair. I'm goin' ta get me supplies. You jus' sit in the chair an' I'll be back in a tick ta clean up yer bloody mess." Then Mrs. Lovett turned on her heel and left the shop.

Sweeney walked over to the chair, cursing under his breath. "Damn razor," he whispered, shaking his head. "And bloody woman too. 'Ow dare she talk back ta me. Don't she understand tha' I can kill her easily? Don't she get tha'?" he muttered to himself. Then he sat down in the red chair, angry thoughts still reeling in his mind.

* * *

Finally the bell chimed and Sweeney heard Mrs. Lovett's footsteps and her dress rustling back and forth as she walked. " 'Ere we go, love," she said, stopping in front of the chair.

Sweeney glanced up at her and grunted. "Th' blood's dry," he rasped.

"Well that's good. Then all I 'ave ta do is clean it up and put a bandage on it," Mrs. Lovett said. She bent down and added, "Give me yer 'and, dearie."

Sweeney did as he was told and watched as she cleaned up his wound. Mr. Todd watched her, mesmerized. He glanced at Mrs. Lovett's neck and noticed that she cleaned up the blood. His black orbs traveled down her neck to her bosoms. There was still blood, his blood, there.

"Mr. T., ya listenin' ta me?"

Sweeney blinked and looked at her. "Wot?" he asked.

"I said, thank the Lord that I was still awake. 'Tis late, y'know. I don't think anyone on Fleet Street is awake besides us. Ya better be thankin' the Lord that I'm still up. If I wasn't you'd be in pain all night long."

Sweeney grunted, shrugging his shoulders. Then he looked at Mrs. Lovett's concentrated face. He had to admit, she was beautiful. Even her messy hair was cute. Her slim figure too. But she'd never be as beautiful as Lucy. His Lucy was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Mrs. Lovett felt him staring at her. Her cheeks flushed, turning bright red. Trying to ignore his intimidating stare, she continued to work diligently. After awhile she asked, "Mr. T., why're you starin', love?"

He blinked and then looked into her brown orbs. "Wot, pet? Wot'd you say?" he asked.

"You were starin'."

"Staring?"

"Yes, love. Staring," Mrs. Lovett said, finishing up. She wrapped the bandage around his palm, covering the wound. Then she took his hand and helped him stand. Sweeney pulled his hand out of Mrs. Lovett's grasp and grabbed an old rag off of the arm of his chair.

Then he took the razor and cleaned it off. Mr. Todd glanced at his reflection in the razor before sticking it in his holster. Mr. Todd glanced at Mrs. Lovett again.

She watched him nervously, afraid that he'd snap again. An awkward silence filled the room. Mrs. Lovett cleared her throat and then said, "Well, g'night, Mr. T." Then Nellie turned and started to walk out of the shop.

Sweeney watched her go, hypnotized. As the bell above the door rang he blinked and said, "Mrs. Lovett."

Mrs. Lovett turned and looked at him. "Yes, love?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

He stood there, staring at her. She was cute when she did that. She was beautiful. And he knew that she adored him. No, not adored. Loved was more like it.

"Love, wot do ya want?"

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked into her brown eyes. "I…thank…thank you, Mrs. Lovett," Sweeney said weakly. "Thank you for cleanin' up my hand."

She looked at him, surprised. "You're welcome, dearie," Mrs. Lovett said. Then she walked out of the shop.

Sweeney watched her go, mesmerized. Mrs. Lovett was a bloody wonder.


End file.
